Here Comes the Reaper

“Those who are weak will only settle for what doesn’t burn.”

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“Don’t really need to know much more, Brolden One,” Crash extends his arms, pressing his body up from the floor with a hiss. “He rubs ‘bows with the ‘Sagna Zoo so it won’t be hard to find some motivation there. Besides…”

He dips down and repeats the pushup before offering Greg a coy smirk.

“I think squaring up with an urban legend monster-man at this point in my career is right where I wanna be,” before dropping down and rising with another sharp hiss. “Where I need to be.”

Greg turns his head when he notices the change in Crash’s tone. The road hasn’t really been kind to the young man but his elder companion knows that, win or lose, he’s got no problem facing less than favorable odds. While the Hot Dog Hero resumes his standard morning exercises, Greg wonders what a man like Big John Pepper could do to him if things go South in Puerto Rico.

Then Greg catches himself, recognizing things have been going South for Jason Jackson for a while. In and out of the ring. The agony of losing is amplified tenfold when things in his actual life are falling apart.

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A new year.

A fresh start.

The self-motivating delusion that - after spending an entire year on the road, losing blood and breaking bones whenever duty calls, and sacrificing any semblance of a normal, quiet life - there’s a chance to wipe the slate clean.

Everyone in PRIME pretends it happens.

The scars left from the past show it can’t.

But that’s the life we live. Turning a page, as they say, and finding a way to believe the lie that this year is going to be different.

Better.

More successful.

Less turbulent.

Yeah fuckin’ right, bro.

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The trick is to believe it just enough.

The lie.

The facade that last few years are in the books and this year is the only one that matters.

The numbers in the win and loss columns can go back to zero but the memories of how much every single one of those matches mattered at the time…

Especially now.

Finding a way to take the pain, the heartache, the bloody lessons learned… and using them as a playbook. A map. 

Took a lot of wrong turns.

Ended up on my back and under the gun a lot more than I’d like to be.

I know better for next time.

That’s the trick.

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Truth is, I'm way over my head and I don’t know a trick to fix that.

I probably always have been. 

Again, see: the lie.

That thing you gotta tell yourself when you set your sights on something so large and grand and momentous that you fuckin’ know better.

But you do it anyway.

You tell yourself that you can do anything. As long as you keep tryin’, keep fightin’ and keep on keepin’ on…

You can win.

Then it takes everything from you.

Your dignity.

Your glow.

Your love.

So you have to buy into the lie.

One night at a time.

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I step into the ring with people I have no place being near, let alone wrestle, and tell myself that goddamn lie.

I tell myself I can win.

But that’s where I think I’m doin’ it wrong. 

Goin’ about it the wrong way.

Gotta put it differently.

Make the lie… the truth.

Spin it around on itself.

There’s somethin’ bad comin’.

I can feel it.

So I’ve gotta make sure I’m ready whenever it shows up.

It’s not a matter of whether or not I can win now.

I can’t afford to lose.